Crane, Poole, & Schmidt--and Shore
by anonymouscelebritywriter
Summary: When a young woman comes to Crane, Poole, & Schmidt to get representation after killing her ex-boyfriend in self-defense, it's up to Denny and Alan to make sure she stays out of prison...and it's up to the young woman to decide how she feels about her mysterious new lawyer. -Boston Legal fanfiction
1. Chapter 1: First Impressions

Chapter 1: First Impressions

I walk into the office of Crane, Poole, and Schmidt warily, because I've heard stories about this place. These stories have included a midget terrorizing people in the firm, a lawyer nicknamed "Hands" drawing a cake knife on a name partner, and lecherous male lawyers prowling the halls. But I've also heard that Crane, Poole, and Schmidt is the best law firm in Boston, which is why I've come here—I have no choice.

Right after stepping out of the elevator, I see the front desk under the large, bold letters declaring the firm's name, and I walk up to it. I'm greeted by a pretty, smiling woman sitting behind the desk, finely dressed and wearing a bluetooth headset. Her professional impression relaxes me slightly, though of course my nerves are already all wound up.

"How can I help you?" she asks in a friendly voice.

"Um, I'm in need of a good lawyer."

"Can you tell me a little bit about what your case is like so I can see who would be the best lawyer for you?"

Clutching my purse in front of me tightly, I swallow nervously. "Well, I…killed my ex-boyfriend."

Her eyes widen, and then she quickly tries to temper her reaction.

"It was in self-defense," I stammer. "But I'm being investigated, so…"

She blinks. "Well, I can refer you to two of our best lawyers, either Denny Crane or Alan Shore."

I look at the sign on the wall to remind me of the firm's name. "May I see Denny Crane, please?"

"Of course. I'll call him down here immediately."

I thank her and take a seat in one of the couches across the foyer as she dials a number. From where I'm sitting, I can hear her as she tells someone—presumably Denny Crane's assistant—that there's a woman here in need of a good lawyer. I can also see out through all-glass walls into various offices and conference rooms, and many people walk back and forth between them, telling me that this is indeed one of the most sought-after law firms in the city.

After only a moment longer, a round, older man, presumably Denny Crane, walks around the corner and up to the desk with extreme swagger. He wears an expensive-looking, pinstriped suit and a cocky smile, and he says something that I can't quite make out to the receptionist that incites a disapproving grimace from her. He laughs boisterously, and then she points at me and says, slightly louder so that I can hear her now, that I'm the woman who's waiting for him.

When he turns around, his face changes to one of being impressed and highly interested, and he grins with wide eyes and walks up with his, as I'm quickly realizing, typical confidence. I stand up to greet him, adjusting my button-down blouse nervously.

"Denny Crane," he says robustly in a deep voice, holding out his large hand to shake mine exuberantly. "Are you the woman who killed someone? Highly impressive."

Hesitating, I withdraw my hand after a moment and wipe it on my skirt from sudden perspiration. "Yes, but as I told your receptionist, it was all in self defense. And my name is Bella Ramirez. It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," he says mischievously. "You know, I knew another Bella once, many years ago. We were engaged, but we never got married. Maybe you're my next Bella." He grins. "Though you're even more beautiful than the first Bella ever was."

Blinking, I breathe out an anxious laugh. "Thank you…. So, as I'm sure you're now aware, I need a very good lawyer." I don't feel like explaining more in the middle of a busy room like this.

"Well, you've come to the right man," he says, practically thumping his chest. "I'm the best there is—undefeated in court—and very rich on top of that. Don't worry, you're in good hands now."

Somehow I don't feel totally relieved.

He puts his arm on my elbow. "Come, let me take you into a more private room so you can tell me more about yourself."

I raise an eyebrow, but I let him lead me away.

Denny Crane takes me down the hall of glass walls and into a smaller conference room, where he pulls back a rolling chair for me and then sits next to me at the head of the long table. Even though I usually run cold, the room is warm enough that I can take off my coat and set it on the back of my chair; up here in Boston it gets cold early, and the calendar on the wall behind Mr. Crane reads November 2006.

"So, tell me all about what happened," he says, leaning in close; a little too close for comfort.

"Um, okay," I say, leaning back slightly. "Well, I had recently broken up with my boyfriend—"

He leans forward even more with an excited expression, and I pause and then make myself continue.

Furrowing my brow, I continue, "We were together for two years, but he became—unlike what he used to be…" I take a deep but shaky breath. "So I broke up with him. Then he wouldn't leave me alone, stalking me when I was at work, never leaving my apartment, constantly calling me on my phone. I tried getting a restraining order on him, but it wouldn't go through because the courts couldn't prove violent or life-threatening behavior, even though he started getting violent. So I went to confront him myself to tell him to leave me alone—and I see now, it was stupid—but he…"

When I can't continue, Mr. Crane inclines his head towards me and says quietly, "Tell me: did he hurt you? Sexually?" He nods to enunciate his last word.

I blink, surprised, and say, "Um…"

Suddenly he turns his head to his right, out the glass walls, instantly distracted by something or someone. I'm grateful for that, but then I look too to see that another man is walking in our direction. He is also dressed in a sharp suit and walks with a purposeful confidence, telling me that he's also a lawyer here.

Denny Crane waves emphatically at him before he can round the corner, making a motion as if he should come to the door, and so the man does. As he nears, he catches sight of me and smiles slowly, his head inclined slightly. When he makes eye contact with me, it's a little unsettling for some reason.

As soon as the stranger opens the door, Mr. Crane says, "Alan! Come in and see my new client. She killed a man." He's almost childish with glee.

"Denny, I'm sure she had good reason." His voice is smooth and deep, a smile playing on his lips, and he closes the door behind himself and takes a seat on Mr. Crane's other side. As he settles in across from me and unbuttons his suit coat, he smiles directly at me, a gesture I'm immediately compelled to return. As he reaches across the table to shake my hand firmly yet comfortably, I realize that he's unconventionally attractive. Even though he's slightly rotund, he isn't fat, and his blue-grey-green eyes are at once kind and piercing. Under a delineated nose, his expressive mouth moves slightly as he looks at me, even though he isn't speaking—but it isn't in a bad way.

"Bella Ramirez, Alan Shore," Denny intones, gesturing from me to the other man.

I realize that I recognize the name Alan Shore from what the receptionist said before: he is one of the other great lawyers here. I find myself wishing that I'd asked for him instead of this overly-friendly Denny Crane, even though his name is on the door.

"Tell Alan what you've told me, Bella," Mr. Crane says, beckoning to Alan, who I can tell is Denny's good friend by their body language towards each other.

"I…" I say, suddenly baffled and embarrassed at my own speechlessness. I just don't know if I'm comfortable sharing personal details with someone else who could end up being just as insensitive as Denny Crane already seems—although I can already see that this Alan Shore is different.

"It's all right," Mr. Shore says, his voice comforting. "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to, although I can't be your lawyer then."

"I thought Denny was my lawyer," I say, embarrassed at my own slowness.

He smiles ever so slightly. "We can both be your lawyers, if you wish. Don't worry, it won't cost extra—we can both represent you together."

"It won't cost anything at all," Denny interjects forcefully. "I'm doing this one pro bono. I mean, just look at her." He makes a strange, secretive face at Mr. Shore, who makes a humorously disapproving one in return.

I look back and forth between them, surprised. "Really?" Denny nods happily. "Wow, thank you so much. I mean…I really appreciate that. Greatly."

"Of course," Mr. Crane says, patting my hand on the table. "I'm happy to help you in any way I can."

Alan Shore gives Denny Crane a funny look, although I can tell it isn't one reprimanding him for offering me free representation.

"So, tell him your predicament, then," Mr. Crane urges me, patting my hand again, and I smile breathily before removing my hand and looking over at Mr. Shore. He looks at me with a comfortable ease, inviting me to speak.

So I tell him everything I told Mr. Crane, then continue with the rest of the story. "I've told every police officer and detective I've spoken with that I killed him in self-defense, that he was abusing me to the point of…"—I swallow—"…killing me, but they don't quite believe me, and they're considering taking me into custody." I fight back the sudden tears in my eyes, and sniffling, I say, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be…"—I laugh—"crying like this when I've just met you and I'm not even in that bad of a situation."

"It is a bad situation," Mr. Shore says, concerned compassion affecting his face. "You need not try to mitigate how it sounds."

I nod, choked up, and look down at my purse in my lap before they can see my face reddening again. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear that my situation is completely valid.

I feel a hand on my forearm, and I look up to see Denny Crane leaning over the table towards me, an earnest look on his face. "I'm going to help you out," he says. "I won't let you go to prison."

I can feel my face contorting in a strange frown-smile as I say hesitantly, "Thank you." I push on the floor with my toe a little, gently sending my chair back just enough to pull away from Mr. Crane's fingertips.

Looking over at Mr. Shore, I see him watching me with a look like he's used to this behavior, and with something else unidentifiable. Then he draws in a breath and looks at my eyes. "How old are you, Bella?"

I don't know why, but I like the way he says my name. "21," I say, a little flustered.

I hear a sharp breath to my side, and I turn to see Denny hunched over with pursed lips, looking like he's been both wounded and aroused. I turn helplessly to Mr. Shore, who raises a questioning eyebrow at Denny.

"She's only—" Mr. Crane begins, turning excitedly to Mr. Shore, who interrupts him.

"Denny, behave." He looks like some disapproving uncle, even though I'd guess he's over twenty years younger than Denny Crane and in his mid-forties. If I weren't the one going through this, I'd laugh at the spectacle.

Turning back to me with a weary look that quickly dissipates, Mr. Shore addresses me again. "Do you have family living with you?"

I swallow, looking away. "No. They died earlier this year. Otherwise I'd be with them, and I wouldn't have this problem."

Mr. Shore looks at me compassionately. "I'm deeply sorry."

I thank him, taking in a breath to compose myself.

"Then do you live alone now?"

"Yes. I had an apartment here in Boston, but my boyfr—Daniel took it over, and after…. I just can't go there anymore. So I'm staying in a hotel, for the time being."

"You don't live at college?" I wonder what makes him automatically assume I'd be in college, even though I was.

"I actually graduated this past May, and that's when I had to move in with my now-ex-boyfriend."

Mr. Shore exchanges a slightly surprised look with Mr. Crane—people are usually surprised when they find out that I graduated at a young 21, but that's what skipping two grades gets you—and then he looks back at me. "All right," he says. Standing with a breath in and buttoning his jacket, he walks around the table and continues, "We'll need to give you some paperwork to fill out, detailing the situation and specifying that we're doing this case pro bono, but after that we can get right to setting a court date and begin prepping for that date." Then he looks at me seriously, standing above me prominently. "Bella. I want you to know that Denny and I will do everything in our power to keep you out of prison and prove your innocence. Soon enough, you will be free of this oppression for good."

Suddenly I don't know what to say, and after only a moment he's walked out the door. I desperately wish I'd thanked him, because I'm so grateful that someone is finally going to help me.

I stand, and so does Mr. Crane. He moves up to me suddenly, arms outstretched like he wants a hug, but I sidestep, swiftly moving into a motion to grab my coat. When I straighten again, he looks slightly frustrated and confused, as if it's unfathomable that his affection could be rejected. He resolves to shake my hand again.

"We'll give you a call as soon as the paperwork is ready," he says, "but I'd recommend staying here in the firm—it only takes a few hours to prepare." He grins, quickly back to his joyful self.

"Eh, I think I'll go out and get some lunch, but thank you."

He nods, a little disappointed, but turns towards the door to leave.

"Mr. Crane?" I call after him before he can exit the room. He swivels back to look at me, hand on the doorknob, eagerly awaiting whatever I'm going to say.

"Thank you," I say after a moment. "Very much."

His face suddenly sober, he nods firmly and says, "Denny Crane." Then he steps through the door and closes it behind himself.

Furrowing my brow, I allow myself a little laugh under my breath.

* * *

Author's note: Thanks to all who have read this first chapter of my Boston Legal fanfiction! I love the show, and I also love writing about it, so I hope you like this story! I should be uploading a second chapter in the next few days, so stay tuned!


	2. Chapter 2: Advances

Chapter 2: Advances

As promised, I receive a call a few hours later from an assistant of Denny Crane's, notifying me that the paperwork is ready for me to come in and look over. I've had a chance to eat lunch a few minutes away from the law firm, but even though that only took me an hour, I stayed at the restaurant for the rest of the time, because my hotel room just seems so…lonely—and there was no way I was going back to my apartment.

When I return to the firm around four o'clock, it's still almost as busy as it was earlier, and when I walk up to the desk, Mr. Crane walks briskly into the foyer after an older, taller man, wagging his finger and shouting, "Denny Crane!"

After the older man scurries away indignantly, Denny walks up to me with a dramatic breath and says, "Paul is a bastard."

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "Is that so?"

"Yes!" His eyebrows are high on his face as well. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Suppressing a laugh, I wait until he collects himself and says, smiling abruptly, "Let's go get this paperwork done. Then I'll ask you to have dinner with me."

As he herds me down a hall, I respond with, "Well, I've…just eaten a large lunch, so I'm very full; I don't think I'd be able to fit in dinner today. But thank you for the offer."

He looks downtrodden, then perks up again. "Then how about tomorrow night?"

My eyes wide, I say after a moment, "Previous engagement."

"Oh, devil," he says exasperatedly, flapping his hand. "Well, sometime then."

We walk into what must be his office, a room with a large window behind his desk that overlooks the city. On a counter behind the desk, sleek awards are prominently displayed among polished guns. I wonder how legal keeping firearms in one's office is.  
I sit in front of his desk as he takes his seat behind it, and I see dozens of pages of paperwork on the desk in front of me.

"All this?" I ask.

"I'm afraid so," Mr. Crane says gruffly. "It'll probably take you an hour or so to go through." Then he grins. "But don't worry; I'll be here the whole time to keep you company."

I sigh. As I'm picking up a pen to get started, I hear a knock on the door, and I turn around to see Mr. Shore standing at the door. I find myself smiling unconsciously.

"I just wanted to see how it's going in here," Mr. Shore says.

"Alan, come in here," Denny says, waving his hand at him. Alan obliges. "Tell Bella that she _must_ have dinner with me this week."

Raising an eyebrow, Alan takes a seat beside the desk, letting out a breath as he does. "Denny, what have we talked about when it comes to going on dates with clients?"

"But Alan!" Denny exclaims, sounding a little like a whiny child. "Look at her!" He jabs a hand at me, and I feel my stomach flip uncomfortably at the sudden attention.

"Let's just focus on the case, shall we, Denny?"

Frowning, Denny looks at the paperwork.

Looking between them for a moment, I finally get back to the papers and begin to read.

Over an hour later, I'm finally done with the paperwork. Somehow I'm exhausted now; I suppose it's from having to lay out every detail of my relationship with Daniel and every minute way that he hurt me.

Once I've handed the paperwork to Denny, he exits the room to bring it to an assistant to look over, and I'm left alone with Alan. He's gone in and out of the room several times during the hour, but now he's sitting on the couch again reading some of his own paperwork.  
Now he puts the papers aside and looks up at me, his eyes low and slightly tired.

"Now there is another matter to attend to," he says. I shiver inadvertently at his tone. "I loathe having to ask you this, but do you have any bruises or any physical evidence of abuse from your ex-boyfriend when he was killed?" He doesn't say "when you killed him" or "when he died"; just "when he was killed." I don't know how I feel about that.

Grimacing, I nod.

"What specifically?"

I hesitate. I hate appearing weak in front of anyone. "Finger marks on my wrists from when he grabbed me a few days ago, and a large bruise on my stomach."

He nods, looking regretful, and clasps his hand together in front of himself. "Then unfortunately we must take photos to provide evidence in case the court date doesn't come around for many days. It's doubtful, but possible, so we have to cover everything."

I nod back. "I expected as much."

"One of my female assistants can take you into a more private room and take the photos. It should only take a few minutes."

I sigh. "Okay."

He unclasps his hands and stands, then steps out the door, peeking his head around a corner to call someone. After a moment a woman walks into the room with him. She looks to be about 25 and has perky blond hair, perky clothing, and a perky face. The way she looks at Mr. Shore tells me that she's attracted to him.

"Bella, this is Melissa," Alan says, gesturing to the woman. He seems a little strange towards her, making me wonder if they possibly had a relationship once.

"She can take the photos for you."

I force myself to smile at her. "Hi."

She smiles back, perfectly cheerful now. "We'll make this quick and painless. If you'll come with me, we'll do it right away."

I follow her out the door, looking back to see Mr. Shore watching us strangely, his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. As soon as we reach a secluded room and Melissa shuts the door, I notice a change in her demeanor.

"Stay away from Alan Shore," she says as she opens a drawer and removes a Polaroid camera from it.

At first I think she's being territorial. "What? Why?"

"Because he's dangerous."

"What? Like he's violent?"

She frowns. "Not violent, more like…volatile."

I furrow my brow. "Were you in a relationship with him before?"

"Yes, so I speak from experience. He has the tendency to hurt women. Just take my word for it: you should stay away from him."

"He's my lawyer…I don't exactly have a choice."

"You can drop him from your case."

I don't reply to that; honestly, I'm not sure what to think now. "Let's just get these pictures over with."

It takes about fifteen minutes, during which I feel humiliated and completely exposed. When I can finally redress and leave the room, I feel terribly relieved.

As soon as I walk out of the room, I'm greeted by Denny. "How'd it go?" he asks quickly. He peers over Melissa's shoulder at the photos before she yanks them away with a _tsk_. I try to keep from rolling my eyes obviously.

Melissa breaks off from us to do whatever is needed with the photos, and Mr. Crane and I return to his office. Alan is there again, and I can't help eyeing him with the wariness that Melissa recommended. He seems to notice, at which point I look away from him altogether.

"So…now that that's over with, I think we're done for the day." Denny seems a bit disappointed, but I'm terribly glad that he's saying this; it's been a long day.

Putting a hand over my mouth to cover my yawn, I nod. "Well thank you. I look forward to getting all of this behind us…no offense to you, of course."

"Not taken," Denny says, grinning. "But let's hope it will never be completely behind us."

"Denny," I hear Alan warn from behind me, and I almost laugh. Almost.

I collect my purse and coat from a coat rack so I can bundle up before going outside. Denny and Alan stand with me, and I notice them both watching as I put on my coat.

When they move next to each other, I'm able to face them both. "Thank you both, very much," I say. "I can't say I'm sad this day is over, but it's been a pleasure to meet you, and I'm very grateful to you for helping me when no one would." I take a moment, for I can feel impending tears again. I've been very sensitive lately.

Denny steps up before Alan can and shakes my hand again. "As I said earlier, the pleasure's all mine. We will give you a call as soon as we have anything new on the case. I look forward to that time."

I smile hesitantly at him, and finally he releases my hand. Then he ducks in suddenly, his lips almost reaching my cheek, before Mr. Shore intercepts and pulls me out of the way.

Flustered, I take a deep breath as Alan releases me and takes a moment too long to step out of my personal space. Then he holds out his own hand and shakes mine, albeit more gently than Mr. Crane did. "Get some rest," he says. "You surely need it."

Nodding, I smile gratefully and walk out of the door before Denny Crane gets any more ideas…and before I can get any more strange vibes from Alan Shore.

As I'm leaving, I hear the two men talking behind me, their dually resonant voices slowly fading.

"Denny, you _must_ give the girl some space," Mr. Shore says to Mr. Crane.

"Mad cow," I hear Mr. Crane say. I look back just in time to see him pointing to his head, just before I've rounded the corner, and I hear Alan's loud, round laugh. I chuckle to myself, baffled, as I head towards the elevator.

* * *

Author's note: So I've actually uploaded this a lot sooner than I thought! I've just been so into my writing the past couple of days that I've been producing these chapters very quickly. I'll probably have periods of inactivity mixed in with these periods of manic activity, so bear with me! Thank you!

P.S. Please leave a review if you liked it (or even if you didn't)! :)


	3. Chapter 3: Melancholia

Chapter 3: Melancholia

I head to the hotel that night utterly exhausted. As soon as I reach my room, I drop my things on the floor and let myself sit on the floor, too.

It takes me several minutes to get myself back up.

When I do finally get back up, I'm dizzy with exhaustion, so even though I'm hungry again, I strip out of my clothes and collapse into bed naked, not caring that it's winter—I keep my room at 75 degrees Fahrenheit anyway.

Then I spend the next ten minutes crying myself to sleep.

* * *

All night I dream of Daniel coming to hurt me, meeting me alone in our apartment and cornering me against a wall. His hands on my throat, a knife in my belly, a gun to my temple-the various ways he kills me all blend together; and towards the end of the night he finally comes back as a zombie, with cloudy eyes and pale skin and a deep slash in his chest where I drove the knife between his ribs and up into his heart. I finally wake abruptly in a cold sweat with my pulse racing, and to my surprise I see that it's nearly ten in the morning.

I feel terribly groggy, as if I hadn't slept at all. I have to scrub the fog out of my eyes quickly, though, because only a few minutes after I wake, I receive a call from Crane, Poole, & Schmidt that we have a meeting with the judge today to set a court date.

Since I have only an hour until I need to be at the law firm, I take a quicker shower (only ten minutes long instead of twenty), opting to skip washing my long hair, and throw it up in a bun speared by a chopstick that pushes up painfully against my already-throbbing head. This is shaping up to be a tough day.

After brushing my teeth for a good two minutes, I dress in a tight-fitting sweater, as I feel extra chilly today, along with skinny blue jeans and my favorite ankle boots. Then I grab my coat, purse, and phone, tie on a scarf, and head out the door.

By the time I arrive to the office building, it's only three minutes until I'm supposed to be at Mr. Crane's office. I hate being late to anything, so I practically run the entire way to the elevator, which I will to go faster while simultaneously battling my everlasting fear of elevators. When the upward motion finally ends, I stumble my way out of the elevator with exhaustion, a headache, and dizziness on top of it all.

I pop a couple ibuprofen pills and swallow them down with water from a fountain before heading back to Mr. Crane's office with the go-ahead from the receptionist. He's sitting at his desk when I get there, polishing an old revolver, and I cautiously sit down in the chair across the desk from him and angle it away from the barrel of his gun.

"How are you today?" he asks in a way that I imagine sounds pleasant to him but unctuous to me.

"I'm..all right," I respond, a little wearily. "And how are you?"

"Absolutely wonderful," he exclaims.

I practically recoil away from his enthusiasm. "Fantastic."

He continues swiping a cloth over the pistol. "So, have you thought any more about going out to dinner with me?"

I inwardly cringe. I'm already growing tired of his advances. "Mr. Crane, with all due respect... I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but we must be fifty years apart in age. You could be my father—no, my grandfather, and you're my lawyer on top of it. So I don't think it's quite appropriate that we go on a date together."

He stares at me blankly for a long moment, then says, "So you're saying you'd like to?"

I sigh.

He looks at me with all the slyness he can muster. "I see. You want to skip straight to sleeping together. I, I can appreciate that." He stands and grabs the belt on his pants. "Let's get to it then."

"Mr. Crane!" I shout, holding out my hands to stop him. When he looks startled and finally sits back down, I sigh, annoyed, and say, "Mr. Crane, I will _not_ sleep with you. Ever." I grimace after saying the words alone.

I can tell he's about to start up again when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see Alan Shore coming into the room, for which I am abundantly grateful.

"Good morning, Bella," he says, actually pleasantly.

I'm relieved that he doesn't ask me how I'm doing as he sits down beside us; I think it has something to do with the expression on my face at this particular moment in time. He looks over my face for a second before directing his attention to Denny, who has finally set his gun in a drawer in his desk, along with his unwelcome advances.

"Are we ready for the meeting with the judge?" Mr. Shore asks us both.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I say.

"It should be a quick meeting—we'll just meet opposing counsel, speak briefly to the judge, and set up the date of the actual trial. The whole thing event take no longer than fifteen minutes."

I nod, then hide a yawn with the back of my hand.

"Tired?" Mr. Shore asks.

"Yes."

"Nightmares?"

I raise my eyebrows a little in surprise. "Yes."

He nods, then stands. "We should get going to the courthouse now."

I drive separately from the lawyers in my own car, following them for the short drive, and we reach the courthouse around 11:30. The courtroom is fairly large and imposing, even though there aren't that many people here.

When the opposing attorney walks in, a man probably in his forties with dark hair and an annoyed expression, he looks our way and immediately shoots a glare at Mr. Shore, who returns a smug smile to him.

I turn to Alan sitting beside me. Denny sits on his other side. "What was that about?"

"Opposing counsel is an old friend of mine."

Somehow I'm not getting the feeling that they're friends.

"Don't worry, it won't be a problem," he says, sensing my concern.

I let out an anxious breath. "I hope not. I don't need more help locking myself up."

He chuckles. "I don't think you'll be getting locked up anytime soon."

Now the judge walks into the room in front of us, and everyone else stands as the man at the front calls, "All rise. In the Commonwealth versus Bella Ramirez on charges of first degree murder, the honorable Judge Gloria Wheldon presiding. This court is in session." Once the judge, a surprisingly pretty blond woman who must also be in her forties, sits down on the podium, everyone in the room also begins to sit.

"Oh dear," I hear Alan breathe beside me as we sit down.

I turn to him, wondering what caused him to react that way. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Is the judge an old friend too?"

"Actually, yes," he says to me under his breath. "Many years ago, we..."

"Dated?"

"Eh...something like that."

Mr. Crane stands and clears his throat to our right. "Denny Crane and Alan Shore for the defendant, waive reading of charges," he says gruffly.

Alan stands also, unbuttoning his suit coat and laying his hands across his stomach. "Your Honor, at this time I would request to come up to the stand."

She regards him coolly. "Approach."

Mr. Shore does so, with Mr. Crane eagerly tagging along. I watch curiously as they talk quietly, Denny interjecting something obviously unwelcome every once in awhile that is met with unimpressed stares from the other two. I can only make out a few words from Mr. Shore, such as "recuse yourself" and "prior history," before they finally come back after a few minutes and sit down next to me.

"Is everything all right?" I whisper to Alan.

He nods. "Oh yes. Just needed to get something worked out."

I don't ask any more, because I'm guessing that my repeated interruptions will not be welcome; I'm also guessing that Alan was asking the judge, unsuccessfully, to recuse herself.

"Defense, how do you plead?" the judge asks, addressing Alan specifically with a slightly annoyed gaze, which I don't take to be a good sign.

Alan doesn't flinch. "We enter a plead of not guilty, your honor."

I'm thinking of how fast-paced this is going so far as opposing counsel stands now and addresses the judge. "Your Honor, we're here today for a simple matter, one that I personally find too simple to even need to be contested." He points to me suddenly, making my heart skip a beat and my spine straighten even more than it already is. "This woman killed her ex-boyfriend in cold blood for a long-held grudge."

As my stomach twists in disgust at such manipulation, Alan suddenly stands and says, "Your Honor, I wouldn't qualify protecting one's life against a vindictive and dangerous man who has already beaten you viciously to be in cold blood."

Judge Wheldon gazes over the lawyers with low eyelids. "Noted, counsel. Now sit."

Alan frowns, sitting and unbuttoning his jacket.

The prosecutor clears his throat, shooting a sharp glance at Alan as he says, "Now, as I was saying, Miss Ramirez claims that she killed her ex-boyfriend in self-defense, but there is no evidence to suggest that. There was no sign of a struggle in the apartment, the ex-boyfriend had arrived only moments prior to the attack, and—"

Alan jumps up again. "Your Honor, this is preposterous! My client has enormous bruises and marks from where her ex-boyfriend heinously beat her, and if you speak with any doctor he will tell you that they are clearly from the night that Ms. Ramirez killed her ex-boyfriend in self-defense! This man clearly has a grudge against women trying to save their own lives, and frankly against me as well—opposing counsel has been out to get me for years."

"Counsel, take your seat."

Alan frowns again, this time more frustratedly, but does as the judge says.

Our opponent finishes by saying, "I recognize that the defendant's ex-boyfriend was an abusive man, but I do not see any evidence that he went with to her apartment that night with the intention of killing her, and furthermore demand that she be charged with second degree murder."

My eyes widening, I look with panic at Alan, who pats my hand and stands.

"Your Honor, I have sitting beside me an injured, deeply hurt young woman who lost her entire family only months ago. She was living with her boyfriend with nowhere else to turn when he began to abuse her, at which point she had no choice but to tell him to leave. Instead of honoring her wishes, her ex-boyfriend stalked her, chased her, continued to abuse her, and finally attempted to kill her one night when she did what any human being would do in her situation: she protected herself. Do not punish her further for saving her own life."

He sits back down. I can't look at him, even though I'm deeply grateful, because right now I'm very absorbed in staring at my hands so that my watering eyes aren't obvious to the rest of the room.

"I'm setting the trial date for November 9th, five days from now," the judge announces. "You are all dismissed."

Standing with Mr. Crane and Mr. Shore, I take a deep breath to steady myself.

"Are you all right?" Alan asks, placing his hand just barely on my arm.

I nod. "Just overwhelmed. I'll be fine."

He nods back.

"Mr. Shore, see me in my chambers." I turn to see the judge staring at Alan.

He looks at me briefly with raised eyebrows. "Go on to the firm; I'll meet you back there soon." Then he follows the judge away.

Denny steps up to me with a grin. "I'll take you back. There's lots of paperwork to be done back at the firm." He waggles his eyebrows.

"I think I'll just drive in my car, thanks," I say.

* * *

After doing many hours of paperwork as promised by Denny, I find Alan in his office where he sits on his couch and reads a tome of a book. He looks up when I peek through the doorway, smiles amicably, and gestures for me to come in.

I don't know why, but I close the door behind me. "I just wanted to thank you for today. You were great in the courtroom."

"Of course." He gestures towards the other couch and says, "Sit, sit."

I oblige with a small smile and let out a breath once I've gotten mostly comfortable.

"Mr. Shore—"

"Please, call me Alan," he says.

I smile. "Okay. Alan." I like the feeling of his name on my tongue.

"What's on your mind?" he asks after studying me for a moment.

I blink in surprise; he's practically a mind reader. "Oh, nothing," I lie.

He doesn't seem to buy it. Cocking his head to the side slightly, he sits motionlessly for several seconds, then repeats without a smile, "What's on your mind?"

I bite my lip, then sigh. "I..." I stop and start over. Waving my hand around vaguely, I say, "It's just, being here... I went to law school, is all."

He looks surprised. "And you passed the bar?" It's barely a question.

"Yes," I say.

"So why didn't you start practicing? You could have even come here; I'm sure we would have hired you." He smiles a little at that, and for a moment I don't know what to say.

"My family died," I finally reply in a small voice.

Alan purses his lips. "Oh."

"Only days later," I continue, my voice strange. Alan looks pained, and I suddenly hate that I'm talking about this with him.

"How did they die?" he asks, almost startling me.

I look up quickly from my hands; I find that my eyes are starting to burn. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I say, "Car crash. They were on their way home from a movie in the dark, and I was the only one not there—because I was with...my boyfriend." Even now, the shame and self-loathing feels as though it burns freshly within me. "And they died. I had four siblings."

I can't stop, can't stop talking, can't stop the tears from coming. "And if I had been there...maybe if I had taken over driving, if I had seen the deer..." I choke out a strangled sob.

Alan looks horrified, and I can't look at him any longer. I move to get up, unable to take his gaze on me anymore.

As I'm standing, I feel his hand take ahold of my wrist, and I whip my head around.

"Bella," he says, his voice almost cracking. He looks up at me with eyes full of emotion. "It is not your fault."

I burst into tears, just like that, and he stands quickly and envelopes me in his arms. I let myself be held by him, my body crumpled into his, sobs racking my chest, and he holds me. My lungs feel like they could burst, like I could drown in my tears, and the pain is excruciating, like I'm being torn apart.

Many long moments later, when I finally can stop crying, he sets me back down on the couch and retrieves a box of tissues for me. As he sits down in front of me, I blow my dripping nose loudly.

I notice the large dark spot on his suit and let out a pained breath. "I'm sorry," I say, pointing to his chest, my voice congested and hoarse. "I can pay for that to be dry cleaned. I have a lot of money now, from...life insurance."

It's not meant to be a joke, but Alan releases an almost relieved breath when I say it. I let out my own, too, and it almost feels good.

"That's how I'm able to stay at the Liberty Hotel here," I say, feeling a nervous push to speak to fill the silence. "They're so expensive."

I realize that Alan's looking at me strangely. "What is it?" I ask.

"That's where I live," he says, suddenly strangely reserved.

"You live in a hotel?" I ask incredulously. "But you're..."

"Rich?" he provides, letting out a sharp laugh. "Yes, that is unfortunately true."

"Then why do you stay in a hotel?"

It takes him a long time to answer, during which time he stares off into the distance. "My wife died, years ago," he finally says, his voice low. "And I can't bear to live in an apartment, let alone a house, without her. Alone."

I suddenly understand exactly why he seemed so pained when I was telling my own story: he's been through the same thing.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe. "I...didn't know." I feel bad for questioning him like that.

He finally looks at me, and I can see the deep pain in his eyes clearly. It hurts me to see him like this, even though I barely know him.

"It's been...several years," he says now. "But I still don't...feel the way I used to, or...love. The way I used to."

My brow furrowed, I suddenly feel the compulsion to take his hand, so without thinking, I do. It's warm in my own, and his fingers are supple as I massage them gently.

"I understand," I say simply, and he nods, satisfied with my reply. He looks away at the wall again, old, and also maybe new, pain still lingering on his face, but he doesn't remove his hand from mine.

A minute later, I get up and leave him alone.

* * *

Author's note: I hope you all liked this new chapter of my story!


	4. Chapter 4: Distance and Fear

Chapter 4: Distance and Fear

I'm woken the next morning by my cell phone ringing. I groggily pick up the phone, see blearily that it's eight o'clock, and flip open the phone.

"Hello?" I say, my voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

"Good morning, Bella." I recognize Alan Shore's voice.

"Mr. Shore," I say, sitting up and clicking on my lamp. "How are you?"

"I'm well," he says. "And it's Alan." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Right, sorry."

"I just wanted to call to apologize for my behavior last night. It was inappropriate and overly personal."

I'm confused, and a little disappointed. "What? No, I actually…" I clear my throat. "I appreciated you comforting me when I was…hurting."

After a long pause, he says, "I mean after that."

Thinking back, I say nothing for a while until he says, "Are you still there?"

"Yes," I say. "Sorry."

After another long pause, Alan clears his throat and says, "Anyway, there won't be any need for you to come in to the firm today, so take a day off for rest. Tomorrow we'll work on prepping for the case together; today Denny and I are going over our own work."

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats. "Goodbye."

"Bye." Flipping my phone closed, I set it on the night table, frowning. After that conversation, I'm left feeling unsatisfied and disappointed. I guess what hurts the most is that I'd actually believed that he cared for me. Now, I see that it was just a moment of weakness and commiseration on his own part.

Closing my eyes tightly, I flop back in bed.

* * *

Feeling extra depressed, I sleep on and off throughout the entire day, until at night I watch garbage TV shows for hours. I used to actually care about the quality of the shows I would watch; now I just flip mindlessly through the channels, using the TV more as background noise to distract myself from my endless thoughts. I find that when I let myself retreat into my mind, I end up going down a deep, dark spiral that I have a hard time escaping from.

I finally fall asleep again around six in the morning, then sleep until eight when I get a call from Mr. Crane's assistant telling me that I should come in at ten. I drag myself out of bed to shower and force down a few bites of an apple that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, then throw on a dress and boots and head to the law firm.

It's cloudy out today to match my mood, and I bundle up extra to protect me from the light snow that's beginning to fall when I reach Crane, Poole, & Schmidt. However, despite the weather, it's bustling inside, and I have to actually weave through people in the foyer to get to Mr. Crane's office.

This time he's not polishing a gun when I get there; instead, he's making out with a dwarf. As soon as I look through the door and see that spectacle, I rewind quickly and back against the wall, scrubbing my eyes as if I could remove the image of Denny Crane kneeling on the ground and shoving his tongue into the mouth of a three-foot-tall woman from my brain.

The woman finally comes out a minute later, greeting me with a glare and then stepping onto a miniature Segway to wheel away down the hall. My eyes wide in surprise, I turn the corner back to Denny's office, the owner of which is now sitting back at his desk and drinking a glass of alcohol.

"Bella," he says, sitting up when he sees me and grinning.

"I didn't know you were dating," I comment, sitting down and placing my purse on the ground to my side.

"I'm not," he says. "Are you jealous?"

I open my mouth, then close it. I know that even a negative response could be used against me.

He lowers his eyebrows, grinning wider. "I'm glad you came to see me."

"Well, Mr. Shore said we had to work on the case…"

He waves his hand. "Ah, don't listen to Alan. Sometimes he has a stick up his ass."

"Who has a stick up his ass?"

The second I hear the voice, I recognize it as Alan's own. Even so, I whip around and see Alan walking in now with his typical arms-swinging confidence and sideways smile.

"Speak of the devil," Mr. Crane says, raising his glass to Alan.

Alan smiles at him. "Getting started already, my friend?"

"Only way to say I've been drinking all day."

I lean back in my chair, forcing myself to relax. The humor of the situation helps a bit.

"How are you, Bella?" Alan barely phrases it like a question as he sits in the empty seat next to the desk.

"I'm well," I lie, and I hear that my own voice is stiffer than usual. I clear my throat, trying to ease up a little. "And you?"

He nods stiffly also. "Well."

"Jeez," I hear Denny say after a moment. "What happened to the two of you? Do you have a stick up your butt, too, Bella?" He laughs. "I'd like to see that."

I laugh slightly in an annoyed sort of way. "Not quite," I reply.

"Well," Alan says after a moment. "Should we get started?"

I look at him. "With what?"

"Well, for one, we should prepare for putting you on the witness stand."

I swallow nervously. "I don't know if I want to do that."

"We'll have to at some point. It's the best way to establish an emotional connection with the jury. They need to see that you're a real person, with real feelings and real circumstances."

I clench my teeth. "I know that. I just don't...fine, I'll do it."

"Denny and I have already practiced the opening statement—Denny will be delivering it, and I the closing, which I'll be writing a little later—so we don't have to worry about that. But you need to be prepared for how predatory opposing counsel could be, because he will."

I frown, muttering, "I knew that guy didn't seem nice."

Alan laughs. "No, not at all. He's known for badgering witnesses, particularly suspects. You'll have to have a thick skin."

I shift slightly. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"It can be harder than you'd think. There's a lot wrapped up in this that will get in the way of your defenses."

"I'll be fine," I say, my voice unintentionally a little acerbic.

He's silent for a moment. "I'm sure you will. But we should still practice."

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my suddenly spastic nerves. "I'm sorry," I say, not really sure who I'm speaking to now. I'm looking at the air between the two lawyers rather than directly at one of them. "I'm just not feeling very well today."

Alan nods, as if he already knew that. "It's all right. You've been through a lot. Don't worry, in only a little over a week's time, this will be over with and you can go on with your life."

"With what's left of it," I murmur.

* * *

We go over crossing for several hours, going through every possible question that could be asked of me and giving me every possible defense, until both Alan and Denny are convinced that I'm ready for it (though Denny doesn't really pay attention throughout the whole thing, so he doesn't need much convincing). Even though I already knew what to expect and how to respond from law school, it's a little relieving to feel so prepared.

However, by the time we're done, I'm exhausted, although I know it's more emotional than anything. Going over the case has brought up all sorts of memories that I've been trying so hard to ignore, and now they run through my head like a terribly broken record.

I head into the bathroom to splash some water on my face and try to compose myself again before I head home. When I leave the bathroom, Alan is standing right outside, and he almost startles me.

Taking my arm, he leads me to what must be his own office; I've actually never been in it yet. I'm not crazy about his purposeful redirecting of my trajectory, but I allow him to bring me into his office and close the door behind us.

"Is something wrong?" I finally ask, stepping back from him a little. I find that my heart rate has raised slightly above normal.

"I know I must have said something to offend you, but for the life of me, I cannot figure it out. So I wanted to take you in here and ask you properly, so that I don't have to stay in suspense any longer." Even though a smile plays on his lips and his voice has its usual cockiness, his eyes betray his display with a very different expression.

I know it's cruel, but I say nothing for a minute as I look around his office. It's neat—I would expect no less. But further, there isn't a single item showing that he has family or friends—not a single framed photo, or personalized memento, or article of clothing not belonging to him. His office is a window into his life, which now seems lonely, and I suddenly feel very guilty.

"You haven't offended me," I say, letting myself sit down on his little couch.

He smiles as he sits down on the other side of the couch. "Then what has caused this sudden change in your behavior towards me?"

Now I feel defensive. "I don't think there's been a change in my behavior," I say. "I barely know you—I apologize, but I'm not the friendliest person when I first meet someone. Also, there is the matter of my quite possibly impending imprisonment."

He works his mouth around, looking down and letting out a quiet breath of a laugh. I simultaneously hope that he drops the matter and doesn't.

Instead, Alan stays silent but stares at me with a cool look, one that makes me feel very uncomfortable staying silent myself.

I laugh. "I see how you became a lawyer: you stay silent and stare until your witness feels compelled to tell you everything."

He laughs too, but still doesn't say anything.

Sighing, I say, "It's just…. I'd thought we'd…had a connection or something last night, when we talked about…our backstories. Or whatever. I know it's stupid. But when you called this morning, it just…dashed my hopes of someone who truly understands what I'm feeling."

His smile finally fades. After a long moment, he says, "It's not stupid."

I take in a deep breath.

Suddenly, he's standing and smoothing his suit jacket, the compassion that was just present in his face wiped clean. "I'm sorry to have upset you." His voice is passionless, sterile.

Understanding when I'm being told to leave, I stand as well and smooth my own dress. "Well. Thank you."

He nods briskly.

"Good night, Mr. Shore."

I leave then.


	5. Chapter 5: Personal Space

Chapter 5: Personal Space

I spend the night crying and eating and crying some more, until finally I manage to fall asleep around two in the morning. I miss my family so much tonight that my sadness follows me even into my sleep, albeit restless, and I wake up at six, when the sun is only starting to rise, with a pillow soaked with tears beneath my head.

Hours later, after dragging myself around the hotel room aimlessly, I drag myself to my car practically asleep and just manage to drive to the law firm. As soon as I step out of the elevator onto the firm's floor, I wish I had just stayed home and begged forgiveness from my lawyers, because today it's even more packed than usual, and just seeing everyone hurrying around makes me want to curl into a ball in the corner. And when I see Denny Crane bustling towards me from down the hall, I nearly turn right back around and go back down the elevator.

Before I can make any such movement, Denny is upon me and grabbing my arm to lead me quickly into his office. He's wild-eyed and seemingly surprised, yet I barely have the energy to ask him what's wrong once he's slammed the door shut behind us. "It's Bethany," he says, his eyes darting around the room and his hand still clenched on my bicep. "She's after me."

I peel his meaty fingers off my arm, wincing. "Who's Bethany?"

"The dwarf!" he whisper-exclaims.

"Ah," I say. "What have you done now?"

"She caught me with another woman." He looks out the glass wall anxiously, craning his neck to get a better angle. "She shouldn't be surprised by that!"

"How dreadful of her."

"You've got to help me!"

"And how might I do that?"

"Patrol the halls, see if she's anywhere nearby, and find Alan. I can't go back out there, so you'll have to get him yourself."

I sigh, taking off my coat and scarf and hanging them and my purse on the coat rack. "Fine. I'll be back in a minute."

He takes both of my elbows now. "Thank you."

I pull my arms away again gently. "You're welcome."

I take in a deep breath once I've closed his door behind me soundly. His antics are highly tiresome, but at least he's not trying to get me to sleep with him for now.

I let myself ignore the part of Denny's instructions about looking for the dwarf; there's no way I'm going to find her in this maze of a place. It takes me a minute to remember where Alan's office is, and then I reluctantly head there.

After hesitating outside his door for a moment, I knock on his door out of politeness, and I see that he's sitting at his desk over a stack of papers. His tilts his head up and graces me with a small smile before waving his hand to signal that I come in.

"Is Denny still running from Bethany?" he asks as I sit down across from him. He continues looking at his papers and not up at me.

I breathe out a laugh. "Yes. That's why I'm here, in fact. He sent me on a few errands, including finding you and bringing you back to his office so that we can get on with what we need to do. And so that he doesn't have to risk seeing her in the halls, although I don't see why he doesn't just get it over with; it's going to happen eventually."

"He's afraid she'll tackle him." He still doesn't look up.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, that behavior seems to run in her family. Her mother had a proclivity for doing the same thing to Denny when they were together; she was the other Bella, actually."

I blink. "Oh. Interesting."

"Quite." He finally looks up, picking up his papers and tapping them together against the tabletop before putting them back down in a neater pile. I see that his eyes look more tired than normal. "Let's head to Denny's office, then." He stands.

Before he can walk around his desk, I put my hand on top of his on the desktop. He looks up at me, startled, and I'm as confused as he is; I don't know what possessed me to do that.

But now I have to say something, so my mind scrabbles for some words that can explain my actions. He stares at me, slightly surprised with eyes a little wider than usual. "Alan," I start, my voice hesitant. "I…"

Before I can say what I feel compelled to, a memory of what that lady Melissa told me about Alan-that he was volatile and not to be trusted-pops into my mind. I close my mouth, poised to speak, and remove my hand from Alan's.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. I run my hands down my dress and look down. I'm so very tired. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

I hear Alan inhale, strangely loudly. "Bella."

I open my eyes and am startled to find that he is suddenly very close to me, too close. His body is inches from mine and his face closer than it's ever been to mine.

My breath catches in my throat as he says, "I apologize again for my behavior the past few days, it's just…you're so…intoxicating." His voice is low and growly, and he finally drags his eyes up from my lips to look straight into my eyes. "You're different from other women. Much different."

I can barely draw a breath, because I'm afraid if I inhale my chest will brush his. And yet I feel an inexorable pull towards him, one so strong that I can hardly resist it.

Slowly, barely, his hand lifts and moves towards my face, his thumb just brushing my cheek, and yet I feel like I've been shocked where his skin touches mine. I suck in a breath and stare at his narrowed eyes, pupils dilated to the almost full size of his irises. Some fact about dilating eyes and arousal vaguely flashes through the back of my brain, but I'm too distracted to think of anything except the man in front of me.

Summoning all the willpower in my being, I slowly, painfully, step away from Alan. Cold air rushes between us like a flood, and all the pain of the past months of my life comes back to me.

"Let's go see Denny, Mr. Shore," I say, my voice whispering and hoarse.


	6. Chapter 6: Night Terrors

Chapter 6: Night Terrors

Tonight, I cannot sleep, because tomorrow is the first day of the trial. I toss and turn in my overly plush hotel bed for over an hour, until finally at midnight I throw the multilayered covers off myself in exasperation and take another melatonin tablet—I already took one earlier, but it did nothing to calm my nerves. I know I'm risking getting shaky from this second one, but I desperately need it. So I wait the next twenty minutes for it to kick in, pacing my room restlessly.

Eventually my listless steps lead me to the door of my room, which I unlock in the dark and slowly open. Stepping into the hall, I see that the lights are dimmed out here too, but not so much that I can't see down to the end of the hall. Closing the door behind me, I look the other way down the hall, and then I start walking in that direction.

I don't know where I'm going or why, but it feels good to walk the stress out of me. After a little while I'm faced with two ways to turn, so instead of risking getting lost I just turn back around and head in the other direction. Soon enough I pass my door again, but I just keep walking.

Suddenly another door several doors down opens in front of me, and before I can move or hide or anything, a man stumbles out the door, not bothering to close it behind him. His head is turned away from me, so I can't see his face, but I see that he has messy, light brown hair and a slightly thick frame in lounge pants and a white t-shirt.

After a moment of staring blankly down the hall, during which I just stand there and stare in my own loose nightshirt, the man turns his head my way, and I'm utterly shocked to see that it's Alan. He starts walking my way, but he says nothing, and as he nears me I realize that his eyelids are practically closed and he's almost limping. I run forward and take ahold of his arms, speaking to him and asking if he's all right. Inside I'm terrified he's having a stroke or something, but when he doesn't even look at me and starts trying to walk past me, I realize that he's sleepwalking.

Then he starts running again, and now I'm definitely worried. "Alan!" I call, running after him again, and I grab his arm and hold him in place.

He looks at me, eyes wild but cloudy, and I shake him. "Alan, wake up!" I say.

"I have to get away!" he mumbles, disoriented and struggling lightly to get away from me.

"Alan, you're okay," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "You're all right, just wake up."

Instead of waking up, he turns on his heel after a moment and begins walking towards his room. I let him and go with him, and he just makes it through the door of his room before he stops in his tracks.

I'm afraid he's going to bolt again, but suddenly he turns around and looks at me, actually looks at me, and I realize he's awake.

"Alan," I say quietly. "You've had some nightmare. It's all right, you were heading down the hall but I stopped you."

He looks embarrassed and startled, and rubbing his hand over his face, he leans against the wall and exhales deeply. "I'm…terribly sorry," he says. "You shouldn't have had to witness that."

"I didn't even realize we were on the same floor," I murmur.

He makes a sound between a scoff and a cough. "Neither did I. And I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I say, leaning too against the doorframe, suddenly exhausted. "Does this happen often?" I'm getting the impression it does.

"Yes," he says reluctantly after a minute. "Unfortunately."

"Night terrors," I mutter.

"What did you say?" he asks almost sharply.

"Night terrors," I repeat louder, a little startled.

"Yes," he says, seemingly surprised.

"I get them too, sometimes," I say. "Terrible dreams, or insomnia, or…when it's worst, sleep paralysis. I hate that." I look down at my feet, remember the last time it happened and how terrified I was, motionless on my side with my fists clenched, unable to get away from the dark figure I was sure lurked in the corner of my room. I shiver.

I look up to see Alan watching me. His eyes flit up and down over my body before finally resting on my face. I can see that he's surprised we have this in common.

"Are you in any danger?" I ask after awhile.

He blinks. "I don't know. I once stood on the edge of a balcony, a year ago when it was at its worst…. It hasn't happened for many months…until now."

I'm a little shocked. "Do you…have anyone who can help you? Stay with you?"

He shakes his head, looking just a little sad. "No."

I nod, not terribly surprised but sad for him as well. Then I feel sad for myself.

I finally take a moment to look around his room, dark as it is. All I can see is his bed towards the back and the curtains slightly lit by the outside streetlights, but from what I can tell by the dark outlines, it's a neat room, another thing I'm not surprised by.

"Will it happen again tonight?"

He bites his lip slightly. "Again, I don't know. It usually only happens once in a night, but there was one time…"

I can't stop myself before saying, "Would you..like me to stay with you?"

"No," he says firmly immediately, and I almost flinch. Then he looks apologetic and says, "I'm sorry, what I meant was…you don't have to. You look exhausted, and…it's not right."

I wonder what he means by "not right." "You have another bed," I say, pointing to the outline of a second bed my eyes have finally adjusted enough to see. "I'm just…afraid it'll happen again, and this time I won't be there to stop you from hurting yourself."

He looks hesitant. "It's only temporary," I add. "Just for tonight, until you can figure something else out."

He finally nods after a moment, convinced. "Thank you," he says, his voice low.

I nod back, my mouth suddenly dry and my palms sweaty on my nightgown that suddenly seems inadequate. "You're welcome."

Not needing anything from my room, I set the keycard that I've had clenched in my hand this whole time on the nightstand next to the bed slightly closer to the door, the one that's still made, and climb into it. After staring at me in the dark for a minute, Alan too gets into his bed and draws the comforter over himself.

I can't help but watch him even as he doesn't move, the comforter over myself too, and I know that he's watching me back from the tilt of his head. The blinded window casts just enough light from the streetlamps and moon to let me see his form in the bed, an undulation of blankets and sheets and mattress all forming Alan.

In the silent darkness, his voice resonates through the entire room when he speaks after a while. "Thank you again," he says, his voice barely over a whisper. He knows I'm still awake.

I lick my dry lips. "You're welcome," I reply, my voice also quiet.

"I'm sorry."

It takes me a moment to process that. "Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry that I…violated your personal space earlier today. I'm sorry that I have been inappropriate many, many times since I've become your lawyer.

"I'm not very good."

"Very good what?" After he says nothing, I prompt him a little more with, "A good lawyer?"

"No," he huffs. "I'm a good lawyer. Very good. I'm just not a very good person."

I swallow, feeling a melancholic wave wash over me. "You're a good person."

"How so?" It's barely a question; he doesn't believe me.

"You're helping me with my pitiful case. You're kind to me when…not many people have been. When I've felt truly alone."

When he says nothing for a long time, I'm afraid he hasn't heard me. Finally I venture to call, "Alan?"

"Come here," he says, his voice slightly gravelly.

Not sure what else to do, I obey him, rising sluggishly from the bed and walking over to his. I stand over him, finally able to see him, and he looks up at me with low eyelids.

After he says nothing for awhile, I realize he wants me to sit next to him, so I do. I have no idea why I'm doing all of this, this thing that's quite possibly the strangest thing to ever happen to me—but then, I have no one else to talk to or be with. So I sit beside him in the bed, on top of the covers, then lie down on them.

He half-sits then, pulling down the covers from beneath me and then pulling them over me. It's a gesture that actually makes me tear up slightly, and before I realize it I'm full out crying.

It's silent, but somehow Alan senses it, and he draws me in and holds me while I sob on him for the second time. I feel disgusting and pitiful, but he holds me, and I hold him back.

I finally fall asleep, many long minutes of crying later, just like that: in Alan's arms.

* * *

A/N: As I'm sure you all can tell, I've been on a writing spree tonight!


	7. Chapter 7: Trial Day

Chapter 7: Trial Day

When I wake up the next morning, Alan's arms are still around me.

My back is against his soft stomach and his body is curved around mine perfectly, and I realize that I haven't slept this comfortably since before my family died. I don't move for fear of waking him up, and also admittedly because I just don't want to, but then when I look at the clock on his nightstand, see that it's seven o'clock, and remember with a start that the trial starts at nine. So, reluctantly, I slide out of his warm embrace.

He stirs when I sit up, and I turn to look at him as he rouses. With sleep still on his face, he looks more peaceful and happier, but that calmness is unparalleled to the purely joyous smile that appears on his face for a moment when he first looks at me. Then he seems to realize what is happening and where he is, and his smile fades.

My stomach flips uncomfortably, and I stand up as he sits up with a stretch. "Sleep well?" I ask politely, pulling my nightgown down.

"Very w—" he stops himself, clearing his throat to remove the coarseness from his voice and start his sentence over with less enthusiasm. "Fine, thanks."

I nod. "Good." Then, without asking, I head towards his bathroom before either of us can say anything regrettable.

After using the toilet, I splash my face with cold water and dry it with his hand towel, one that somehow smells of him, of cologne and detergent and something distinctly Alan. His bathroom is arranged neatly, but all I can look at is my face in the mirror. Instead of dark, sunken circles under my eyes and chapped lips—which I normally have to cringe at—despite only getting six hours of sleep, my face holds a glow, a richer olive tone like it used to, and a rested look that I haven't seen for a long time. I pull at the skin on my face in different places, looking from different angles and trying to decide if I actually look this healthy; after poking and prodding, I determine that I actually do. I wonder if I'm pregnant; then I remind myself I'm a virgin. Then I almost laugh out loud at myself.

Eventually I emerge from the bathroom feeling slightly calmer than before, thinking that maybe my healthy face is a good sign for the trial today. Alan's somehow already dressed when I come in, although he's still buttoning up his shirt, allowing me a small view of the thick hair on his chest. He looks up from his buttons and quickly finishes before stepping slightly closer to me; then I realize his eyes are lingering on my chest.

Looking down as covertly as possible, I see with horror that in the daylight my nightgown is sheer enough to see my nipples through the fabric. My eyes wide, I cross my arms over my chest, feigning cold, and say, "I'm going to go back to my room and get dressed. I'll meet you at the firm."

He slides on his suit jacket swiftly and looks up briefly from buttoning it, his eyes deftly moving away again to tying his tie in front of his closet door's mirror. "Would you like to drive with me? The courthouse is in a different direction than you're used to."

Every awful fiber of my being wants to say yes. "That's all right, I'll just follow you. It's good to have my own car…in case I need to leave before you or something." My excuse sounds lame even to my own ears.

He nods, though, accepting it, and opens the door for me. I make sure I have my keycard on the way out so that I don't get locked out of my own room, and at the door Alan gives me a long look that I simply return, not knowing what to say but not sure if I should leave just yet.

"Thank you," he says soberly.

I nod; we both know what he's referring to. Then he closes the door for me. I let out a long breath before heading down the hall.

* * *

At the courthouse, wearing the nicest dress I own, heels, the best makeup I can do, and my long hair up in as neat a bun as possible, I follow Alan and Denny through a surprisingly large crowd of people outside the courtroom. I feel highly conspicuous as we march through the press, Alan leading in front and Denny behind me with his hand noticeably present on my back. I allow it, for now, because today I'm feeling extra generous, and with the stress of all that's happening, it's actually nice to have a little extra bit of comfort. I'd admittedly rather have that comfort from Alan, but beggars can't be choosers.

When we finally make it into the courtroom, where the concentration of people is only slightly lower but much quieter, I'm able to finally take a full breath once we've sat down. I find that my hands are shaking violently, though, so I have to pinch them between my bouncing knees.

I jump when I feel a hand on my arm. I turn to my right to see Alan watching me compassionately. "It's all right," he says, his voice cool but calming. "You'll do great."

I manage to smile just a little and thank him, but it's less myself I'm worried about than how well he, and in particular Denny, will perform in front of the judge, jury, opposing counsel, and even media who are noticeably and worrisomely positioned to see everything that goes on. I didn't realize that anyone else knew about the case at all.

The judge enters the room now while the jury fills the twelve seats to the right of the room, and everyone else rises. I notice Judge Wheldon shooting a glance towards Alan, who shoots back a funny smile-frown, and I furrow my brow, distracted just for a moment in wondering about the exchange. It's almost as if she were warning him to behave.

Then I see Denny waggling his fingers in a wave at the judge, trying to attract her attention, and my train of thought is shattered.

After a sharp rebuking look from the judge, Denny rises with zero chagrin and only slight disappointment and delivers the opening statement to the jury. It's peppered with indecencies and politically incorrect comments, but it's obviously effective at its roots, and I can see now why he's undefeated in court. I feel a small amount of pride in my choice of representation as he sits down and gives Alan and me the thumbs up.

Then the district attorney rises to give his statement, and all my hopes are shattered.

He's obviously more prepared than before, and his words are vicious and powerful, leaving me feeling devastated at my own prospects. He speaks of how I must be guilty because of all the evidence and the perfectly aligned events, and wraps up with a pithy sentence that's even more effective than Denny's words. The jury are obviously left doubting everything Denny said, and some of them even glance over at me with strange looks on their faces. I shrink into my seat, looking over to Alan helplessly, who's momentarily glaring at the district attorney, who in turn is giving him a smugly satisfied look of his own. I feel my blood boiling. The district attorney calls his first witness now, an old woman who lives next door to my apartment. I barely know her, but she speaks as if she knows me well—and not in a good way. She testifies that she's always thought me to be a reclusive, angry girl, especially since my family died—and that I was just "dying" (as she put it) to let out my "inner rage." I'm surely left with a lot more rage than usual hearing her words, and I wonder desperately if she was paid off or something to speak against me so flagrantly.

As Alan stands, buttoning his suit coat and smoothing his hands down his front, I frown deeply, hoping he can do something to salvage the situation. He walks up close to the witness stand, turns and paces for a moment, and then comes back with his hands clasped at his solar plexus.

"Eh, Ms. Wells," he begins, then gestures towards me, "you say you know my client well?"

The old lady nods.

"Ms. Wells, verbal responses, please," Judge Wheldon tells her. Ms. Wells nods again, and I see the judge just barely roll her eyes in exasperation.

"Ms. Wells, how long have you known my client?" Alan continues.

She furrows her brow. "About three months, since I switched apartments to live next door to her."

Alan nods. "And in your opinion, is that enough time for you to get to know someone?"

Her voice is wavering when she answers, "Yes, I think so."

"So, in what capacity have you gotten to know Ms. Ramirez?"

Her deep frown deepens further. "I…live next door to her."

Alan nods again, looking this whole time like he's planned this whole thing and isn't surprised in the slightest. "Yes, we've established that. So, besides…living next door to her, you haven't spent much time with her, have you?"

It takes Ms. Wells a moment until she finally shakes her head, then remembers the judge's order nervously and leans forward to the microphone to say, "No."

"Then it might be prudent to say that you don't know Ms. Ramirez very well at all."

"Well," Ms. Wells begins to protest, but her words die down. She finally admits, "I suppose so."

I see the district attorney shaking his head in frustration as Alan nods a third time. "Thank you, Ms. Wells." He looks to the judge. "No further questions, Your Honor."

I feel a sense of relief wash over me as Alan returns to his seat beside me and unbuttons his suit coat again. I'm impressed by his swift debunking of the old woman's frankly delusional account, and I allow myself a moment of studying him before finally turning to face forward again, this time able to breathe.

A new witness is called, this time by Alan, to confirm that on the night of Daniel's death, I'd just gotten home with groceries only fifteen minutes before Daniel showed up. It proves pretty clearly that I would have had barely any time to premeditate an attack on his life that night and was seemingly preoccupied, and I feel another wave of relief after the witness steps down from the stand.

Judge Wheldon calls a break now for lunch and time for the lawyers to talk matters over, and I stand and surreptitiously stretch with a stifled yawn. Alan and Denny lead me through the courtroom and back into the hall, where too many people once again close in on us rambunctiously. When microphones are jammed in Alan's face, he swats them aside and just takes my arm to lead me quickly through the crowd. I say nothing as media yell questions at us, Alan says "No comment," and Denny repeats loudly, "Denny Crane."

When we finally make it to the waiting/meeting room, I drop into a chair with a heavy exhale. Alan paces for a moment before sitting across from me, and Denny sits in another chair at the head of the table.

"That went well," Alan says, sounding almost convinced.

"Really?" I ask. "The D.A.'s opening…"

"Was powerful," Alan supplies, and I nod. "But it isn't everything. Both witnesses worked mostly to our advantage, despite Ms. Wells' rather vitriolic testimony."

Now he sighs. "However, the trial won't end today."

I furrow my brow. "You think it'll take longer?"

"Yes. Opposing counsel has another witness, and then you're going to have to take the stand." When he sees my immediate apprehension, he says, "Don't worry, we've prepared you for it, and I don't think it'll happen until the next date—probably tomorrow. But we'll go over likely questions from the DA again, just to be safe."

"I should be fine. I almost was a lawyer myself, after all." Denny looks up quickly from his nap with a questioning look, then falls back asleep after only a second.

"He'll be back with a stronger witness or some sort of expert testimony tomorrow," Alan warns, his tone serious. "His opening proved to me that he's out to get us, and with such a strong statement, there must be something up his sleeve to make him so confident. We need to be wary."

Now he looks directly at me instead of every once in a while at Denny— who has been practically asleep in his chair since we got in the room—making me straighten in my seat. "You're going to need to let out as much emotion as possible on the stand," Alan says. "Don't hold back on details; they will add realism to the situation and make the jury feel for you."

I nod again.

"Let out everything that you told—" He stops in the middle of his sentence, quickly adjusting his demeanor from one of rarely-revealed emotion back to his usual calmness. He moves his mouth around, readjusting his expression, before saying with pensive eyes, "Just don't hold back."

I take in a deep breath. I've never been good about letting out emotion in front of other people; it's a wonder I let myself cry in front of Alan Shore. Crying is something I prefer to confine to my dark room late at night, and not something I plan on doing in front of the jury, the judge, or, in particular, the prosecutor. Yet even so, I feel that I need to follow Alan's advice.

"Denny," Alan says, looking over at him, "do you have anything to add? You did take this case first, after all."

Denny opens his eyes and sits up a little straighter. "Well," he says after a moment, "it might be helpful to flirt with the judge."

I furrow my brow. "The judge is a woman."

He seems thrown for a moment, then waves his hand and says, "Ah, doesn't matter. It's hot just the same."

"I don't think she should do that, Denny," Alan says, but there's a hint of an amused smile on his lips.

"Okay," Denny says, in an unbelieving sort of tone, as if he knows he's right and Alan's not. "Don't say I didn't tell you anything useful."

I let out a breathy scoff, looking down at the table, and when I glance up after a moment, Alan is watching me, still with that little smile. It makes me smile back.

* * *

We return to the courtroom twenty minutes later, after eating a quick lunch of some sandwiches already in the courthouse, which I was barely able to stomach because of nervousness creeping up on me again. I know Alan said I wouldn't have to testify until tomorrow or even later, but I can feel the anxious anticipation for that slowly flaming up inside me.

The DA's next witness is another neighbor of mine, this one a man I don't know at all, who has barely anything helpful to offer except that he was already asleep during that time and dreamed that he heard a scream. It's so ineffective and weak that I almost wonder if it's some sort of trick, and from the look on Alan's face, I also wonder if he's thinking something similar.

When we're finally dismissed for the day and told to return two days later for the second and possibly final day of the trial, I ask Alan as much, but he barely gives me a reply except for a "maybe." He seems deeply distracted now, and I wonder what's going through his head. I know better than to ask him, though, so I just get in my car and drive back to the courtroom behind Denny and Alan.

We spend the last couple of hours of daylight going over likely questions from the DA as Alan recommended, although surprisingly, Denny handles most of it. Even though he has what seems to be a script of questions that he reads off to me, and I have plenty of practice by now, I'm surprised that Alan wouldn't handle this himself, and it makes me wonder if he's mad at me for something. Then I tell myself not to overthink anything, that he's probably just busy with another case and that this is primarily Denny's case anyway…yet the inklings of doubt still pervade my mind.

After the sun has set and it's totally dark, I'm still at the firm, but we've pretty much wrapped up everything important. Honestly, I don't want to be alone, and since Denny's more than happy to have me stay in his office and just chat, I've stayed this late without great compunction.

When I head to the firm's fancy bathroom after a little while, I take a little extra time to look at my face again in the mirror above the marble sinks. It still looks healthier than it has in a while, although now I look tired. Deciding that I should probably finally go back to the hotel, I walk out of the bathroom towards Denny's office to collect my things.

When I get there, though, Denny's gone, and it takes me a moment to see that he's sitting out on the balcony with another man. After a second I recognize the back of Alan's head, and I start to walk up to them before realizing that they're holding cigars and glasses of alcohol and looking very much like they're in some sort of ritualistic bonding moment. So I freeze several feet back from the door to the balcony, where they can't see me, guiltily but admittedly eavesdropping on their conversation.

"I think I'm falling for her, Denny," I hear Alan say, and I wonder who he's talking about.

"Who? The new Bella? Well, would you look at that."

When Alan says nothing to refute Denny's statement, I feel my heart skip a beat. Alan's falling for me?

Denny pauses. "Is she good in bed?"

Alan laughs as I feel myself blushing fiercely. "We haven't slept together, Denny."

"Sure. Oh, I bet she's spectacular in bed. She's ravishing."

Alan laughs again, a little quieter this time. "That she is."

I force myself to walk up now, before I eavesdrop anymore, and they both turn to me slightly startled. I can tell Alan's caught off guard and slightly embarrassed, like he's hoping that I didn't hear what he said. I give a small smile to him, not letting on to anything.

"I thought you left," Denny says to me gruffly.

"I'm sorry," I say, suddenly feeling the need to apologize—probably due to the eavesdropping. "I just…went to the bathroom, then realized I'd left my things in your office."

"That's all right," Denny says suddenly, his demeanor completely changed in the blink of an eye. He waves his hand. "Sit, sit."

There's no third chair, but I thank him all the same.

"Denny, there's no other chair," Alan says, furrowing his brow slightly but looking amused.

"That's fine," Denny says. "She can sit on my lap."

"Um, I'm fine standing," I say quickly.

"Suit yourself," Denny replies. "I'm very comfortable." He pats his stomach. "I'm quite rich, you know."

I nod, smiling despite myself.

With an animated expression, Denny mouthes "millions" as Alan asks me, "Are you worried about the trial Thursday?"

Stifling a laugh, I focus on Alan and reply, "A little." Honestly, right now I'm thinking more about what I just heard Alan said, incredulity still swirling through my head, than even my own case.

"Don't worry too much," Alan says now. "It'll work out fine."

Denny speaks up again. "I've never been defeated," he reminds me proudly. "I'll win this case for you."

I nod, smiling. "Thank you—both of you. Thank you very much."

They nod back, and I feel compelled to step up and give Denny a kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Denny."

When I pull back, he beams with ruddy, round cheeks and says, "Good night."

Now, I look at Alan, who looks almost uncomfortably expectant. Swallowing, I step over to him and bend forward to give him a friendly kiss as well; but when my lips press against his soft, round cheek, I can't help but let them linger there for a moment.

I finally straighten and try to collect myself from my sudden interior burst of many emotions. Alan's eyes are closed, but now he opens them slowly to look up at me with indescribable emotion in his eyes.

"Good night, Alan," I say, blinking quickly.

"Good night, Bella," he responds, voice low and rumbly once again.

I walk away now. As I'm leaving Denny's office, I hear him speaking in an excited tone to Alan, saying, "What a magnificent woman." I can't help smiling on my way out the door.


	8. Chapter 8: Thought Processes

Chapter 8: Thought Processes

I attempt to take a much-needed mental health day in my hotel between the trial's dates. I veg out on my couch with various bags of snack foods and my favorite Netflix shows and try not to worry about the trial, or the events preceding it, or anything—and I almost succeed.

Almost. Half an hour into my TV binge, my mind is unable to stop thinking through what happened last night. And once my brain remembers the exact details, I can't focus on anything else.

I try to wrap my head around what I overheard Alan saying. Did he actually say that he's falling for me? As in falling in love? I just don't know if I can believe it.

But his words, his tone, his face after I walked up, all seemed so emotional, so open, that I have a hard time disbelieving it. I've never witnessed Alan lying, and he strikes me as an astoundingly honest man, even in the most difficult of circumstances. What's more, some of his behavior actually seemed coherent with his being attracted to me, even if they were sometimes harsh and often secretive.

And even though I know him to be an ofttimes…flirtatious man, I don't know if I could see him falling for a client as young as I. I don't believe he would have many scruples against dating a client…but…

So, after much cerebration, I deduce that Alan Shore is falling for me.

And with that, everything I think about him changes.

But also with that, I cannot do nothing anymore. I cannot just sit here when there is a man in a building in this very city who is falling for me.

Because the problem is, I think I may be starting to fall for him.

* * *

When I walk up to the doorway of his office twenty minutes later, he's sitting on the couch with the TV playing in front of him. On the screen, a partially-insane-looking woman with high blonde hair speaks in rambunctious tones with a thick southern-like accent about one of Crane, Poole & Schmidt's cases. It takes me a moment to realize that she's talking about my case.

"I mean, my God, what will it take for these people to realize that she killed the man?" I flinch every time she forcefully enunciates her words. "He was her ex-boyfriend, he beat her, her family died just months before. Is it so hard to believe that a depressed, wounded, psychotic woman could kill a man?" A picture of myself walking next to Denny and Alan in the courthouse flashes onto the screen, zoomed in with low resolution on my face looking particularly stoic and gloomy. "Come on, people, just look at that face! That is the stone cold face of a killer, and everyone knows it!"

When Alan realizes I'm in the doorway, he quickly turns off the TV, but the damage has been done. I'm beginning to turn away when he exclaims my name.

"Wait," he says, and I can hear him standing with a small exhalation.

I turn to see him standing in front of the couch with his hand on his stomach. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says. He beckons for me to come in and sit on the couch beside him, and I do. As he settles in again, he says, "That woman…. She's verifiably insane, I assure you." He laughs a little, almost nervously, then says with a tone less convinced than I would like to hear, "Surely everyone does not know you're the killer."

"But many people think it," I say in a deflated tone.

"No," he says, finally with more conviction. "This case is clear to me, as it will be to the jury. Don't worry, we still have a whole day to show that."

Alan draws in a breath and inclines his head towards me somewhat. "So, was there a specific reason you stopped by? Not that I mind." He smiles slightly.

"Um…" My train of thought has been derailed by this madwoman, and I'm starting to think that coming here wasn't such a good idea. "No, maybe I should just head back."

"Wait, wait," he says again as I'm starting to get up. "I think there was a reason you came by. Tell me, I can be a good listener." He smiles a little again, reassuringly.

I frown. "Honestly, I don't even know why I came. I…" I decide maybe it's best to go with honesty. "Well, I heard part of what you were telling Denny last night."

His face is statuesque, but I can tell he's actually surprised inside. "Oh."

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I walked in and heard what you were saying…and I just wanted to say…"

I trail off, because I can tell he's shutting down. All the friendliness and any emotion at all has quickly slipped off his face, and I'm worried I've created an abrupt distance between us. I realize that honesty that blatant may not have been the best idea after all.

"I'm sorry, Alan," I say, standing. "I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry."

Grabbing my coat from where I left it on the floor beside the couch, I head towards the door. Somehow, though, Alan is suddenly in front of me, stopping my hand before it can reach the door by grabbing the door handle quickly. I jump as it shuts loudly.

He straightens in front of me, awfully close again. "Bella," he says, looking me up and down. He musters a small smile, but then it drops as quickly as it appeared. "Don't go."

I take in a shaky breath gently, our faces mere inches apart. Every molecule in my body wants me to close that tiny distance and kiss him right here and now, but my head is screaming for me to get away fast. Mind and body war for what feels like hours.

My mind loses as one of us spans the tiny yet massive gap and presses our lips together.

The kiss is gentle, soft, oh-so-sweet. His lips are soft and supple, his breath on my face warm, and my heart feels like it's being filled to the brink with emotion. It's the best kiss I've ever had, and I feel so hungry for more as Alan raises a hand to cup my cheek and pulls me in close.

But then I suddenly break away, our lips parting with an audible sigh. I desperately want to keep kissing him, indefinitely, possibly forever, but I also feel a sudden need to get out of this room, and fast. So, turning around, I quickly grab my coat and purse.

"Bella," Alan says, but I can't look at him now. I flee before I can change my mind.

I don't know which hurts more—my stupid impulsivity, or the fact that Alan doesn't follow me.


End file.
